Unspoken Desire
by 80sarcades
Summary: Confession was never an option. Warning: contains slash themes and mature content. Newkirk/Hogan.
1. Unspoken Love

_**Unspoken Desire**_  
_**by 80sarcades**_

* * *

_Welcome!_

_This story is a bit late: I told Marie1964 that I would write a slash-themed story concerning Newkirk and (unknowingly) Colonel Hogan. Unfortunately, due to real life I put it off until now...a year late, LOL! Originally, I was going to do one short story in this theme. After some thought, I decided to write a series of short vignettes._

* * *

_Life is just bloody awful, isn't it?_

Peter Newkirk inhaled the last of his cigarette before letting a stream of blue smoke flow out of his lungs. With practiced hands, he carefully snuffed out the last of his cigarette before putting the remaining stub away. He really didn't need to save it, of course; there were plenty of cigarettes left over from the last Red Cross package. Still, it was just habit.

_Four years,_ he reflected._ I've been here for more than four bloody years._

The RAF Corporal's cynical eyes slowly swept the rough courtyard. Men in various uniforms dotted the rough landscape; a few of these played games while the rest kept themselves busy. Beyond that was the wire fencing and the guard towers that dominated all life in Stalag 13. And beyond that...

_The only thing that's really free around here is the sky._

Peter nodded once to himself before he pulled another cigarette out of his pocket. He lit the tip and savored the hard vapors the paper cylinder produced. In truth, it was more of a distraction than anything else. The recent murder of fifty escapees from Stalag Luft III had brought a halt to all sabotage operations. With the exception of rescuing downed Allied fliers - and even that was chancy enough - there was little to do.

Almost.

At that moment, a man stepped through the nearby barracks door. Like Newkirk, he took a position on the barracks wall before scanning the camp with his pensive eyes. Oddly, the newcomer was unaware of a second set of eyes that glanced surreptitiously in his direction. Peter Newkirk raised the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag before letting his breath explode in one tremorous sigh.

_I love him,_ he thought. _And he'll never know it._

* * *

_A/N: Stalag Luft III was the site of the infamous Great Escape that occured on March 24, 1944. 50 of the escapees were eventually shot by the Gestapo._


	2. Private Torments

_**Unspoken Desire**_  
_**by 80sarcades**_

* * *

_Welcome back, and have a nice day! Although there are slash themes in this story, I have no secret desires in my heart...except for baseball, LOL! It's just fun writing from a different POV._

_To clarify: in 1944, Great Britain had laws mandating imprisonment for those convicted of homosexual crimes. These laws were not removed until the Sexual Offences Act of 1967._

* * *

There was more to being a con artist than just simple thievery.

At times, Newkirk found it privately amusing to be able to pick a lock or relieve a Kraut officer of his secret papers. It was the ultimate irony, in a way: only in a prisoner of war camp could his abilities make him into a hero. However, these mere tricks of the trade were nothing next to the golden art of acting. To have your target willing - in some cases, actually _begging_ - to do your bidding based on a few simple words was a sight to behold.

It was that reason - among many others - that attracted him to the Colonel. From the moment they met, he knew that he had met his match in more ways than one. The American was smart, handsome, devilishly devious, charming...the list went on and on.

To Newkirk, he was a man's man. And to his everlasting torment, a man that would never be truly his.

Peter had known early on that he favored blokes. It was something that he couldn't explain or quantify; he just _knew_. It wasn't that he didn't like women; to be truthful, he _loved_ them. Even now, a pretty one would turn his head just as quick as any other man. However, none of the powers the opposite sex possessed could match the fiery passions that burned in his heart when another man lay in his arms.

Unfortunately, the rule of life was simple: one man, one woman. To be different - to not be a _real man_, whatever that really was - was unacceptable. Instead, Peter carefully hid his true feelings and played the part he was expected to play. He went out with women, made the right comments about women...

_...and maybe that was the biggest con of all,_ he decided. He tried - and failed - to quash the sudden pang of guilt that stabbed at his soul. _No one knows. Not even my best friend._ His eyes then flicked over to LeBeau; the Frenchman, standing nearby, was talking to Schultz. Although he couldn't hear the conversation, the ecstatic look on the Sergeant's portly features told the Englishman all he needed to know.

A sour look passed over Newkirk's face before he quickly banished it away. _Not too hard to guess his heart's desire, isn't it? Maybe that's why I envy him at times. He's in love with food, and I'm in love with..._

Peter glanced toward Colonel Hogan once more. This time, Kinch was standing beside the American officer. As usual, the Englishman shoved down the vicious feeling of jealousy that tore at his chest. Rationally, he knew the black Sergeant was probably only delivering a message from London. Emotionally, however...

_...it hurts. It could be me standing beside the Guv'nor. Sometimes, that does happen. Even then, to be that close yet unable to do anything...torture, it is._ He sighed dejectedly. _We complain about Hochstetter and his lot making life awful for us. The only difference is that someday the war will end and they'll bloody well stuff it. What I feel will never change._

_And after that...I'll never see him again._

With effort, Newkirk blinked the sudden tears away before resuming his usual dour expression. _We'll be separated by an ocean. A big ocean, at that. And what then? Letters? An occasional visit? It won't be the same._

_Somehow, I'll have to endure it._

_Life just isn't bloody fair, is it?_

Newkirk sighed, then locked the depressing thought into a dark corner of his heart before he walked back into the barracks.

* * *

_A/N: We all remember our first true love. Before I met my wife, my first real love was given to a married woman. This was back when I was young, stupid, and completely ignorant of the ballistic properties of shotgun pellets fired by angry husbands;-)_

_It was wrong then and now. Even so, a shard of the feelings I once held for her will still tug at my heart on occasion. Such is life._

_Side note: Interestingly, there were no corresponding laws against lesbians. I think Susan M.M. made the joke once that no woman could resist a red-blooded (is there any other?) Englishman...hence, no necessary need for a law, LOL. _

_Thanks for reading!_


	3. The Tunnel, Part 1

_**Unspoken Desire**_  
_**by 80sarcades**_

* * *

_Welcome back! I'm sorry for the late update. My wife and I had to change jobs rather suddenly back in May (hers due to the sequestration mess; mine due to reorganization) and its taken me a while to get my new workplace set up like I want it. Thankfully, both of the new jobs are going very well for us!_

_BTW, a belated Happy Birthday to **Marie1964!** Hope it was a good one for you!_

_Have a good day!_

* * *

Unfortunately for Newkirk, escape from his tormented thoughts was all but impossible.

For a brief moment he thought he could find solace in the tunnels that ran underneath the POW camp. Although Kinch was nearby, he was usually quiet; only the metallic rasp of a tool working on one of his radios betrayed his presence.

For a moment Peter fingered the dress that he was working on. The material only needed a few simple mends before being good as new. _Or as new as it will ever be in this place, _he groused before his practiced fingers began their work. As he did so, an odd thought crept into his brain:

_Maybe I should have been a woman..._

Newkirk abruptly stopped before he blinked in confusion. _Where did that come from?_

He _liked_ being a man. As poor as he was, there was always that little bit of freedom in his life. Women, on the other hand, generally stayed at home. Simple as that. Not to mention that their lot in life was a bit dismal; looking at his mother's life taught him that much. No, he would take his bits any day, thank you.

It was a silly, almost errant thought. What bloke in his right mind would _want_ to be a woman? He glanced down at the dress he held before a soft sigh escaped his lips.

_And I can't help but envy them, can I?_ he sadly decided. _Every life has a silver lining._

_Doesn't it?_

Sometimes he had to wonder.

He softly, almost reverently, ran his fingers across the feminine fabric. At that moment he remembered the first time he had worn a dress like this...

* * *

_It was a simple mission._

_All he had to do was to go to town and retrieve some radio parts. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem. Unfortunately, London had flubbed the hand-delivered message: the courier was expecting a woman._

_In the end, it all came down to a simple fact: without the parts they were out of business. That didn't stop Peter from feeling a bit ashamed of himself as he slipped into the unfamiliar garments. It was humiliating enough for his friends to see him like this..._

_...and worse still - though he dared not admit it - that he felt a certain _thrill_ from dressing in something forbidden._

_At first he put it down to acting: he was supposed to play the part of an old woman. To his surprise the mission almost went off without a hitch._

_Almost._

_There had been one moment - one terrifying, drawn out moment - when Newkirk was certain that he was about to be caught. That had been when Major Wolfgang Hochstetter, Stalag 13's resident Gestapo nemesis, walked up..._

_...and gently took 'her' by the arm before helping the old woman across the semi-busy street. Somehow, Peter managed to keep the panic out of his grandmotherly voice when politely thanking the German; that had been much too close of a call for his tastes._

_Even so, package in hand, Newkirk had to admit that the whole experience was quite...interesting. The dress itself was more comfortable than he expected although the straps of the brassiere, not to mention the girdle itself, had given him fits at times. In one way it was just another uniform that he would be glad to get rid of once the night was over. None of those, however, had made his body almost shiver in pleasure when it touched his skin._

_Not that he mentioned *that* when he __returned to camp. The Colonel had congratulated him on a job well done; his friends teased him about his new outfit. On the outside, he did a credible job of pretending he was doing it all for King and Country..._

_...while on the inside I enjoyed it. I still do._

* * *

He touched the smooth material once more.

_Maybe I am jealous of women,_ he reluctantly decided. _When you get down to it they can do things that I can't, at least not easily. Especially with the Colonel..._

* * *

_To be continued in Part II._

_A/N: When I was growing up, women in my neck of the woods wore either dresses or pants. Now I'm surprised if I actually see a dress outside of church, work or a social function. It's probably a good thing: my coworker wears her dresses *way* too short for my tastes...and for a guy that's saying something:-)_

_Occasionally, I have to shake my head when a woman in her 40's tries to fit into clothing meant for a twenty-something or a middle-aged guy tries to make himself look like a young stud (the balding head usually gives it away, btw:-). My philosophy is simple: be happy with who you are. Unfortunately, some folks are unclear on the concept:-(_

_Thanks for reading!_


	4. The Tunnel, Part 2

_**Unspoken Desire**_  
_**by 80sarcades**_

* * *

_Welcome back! Enjoy, and have a nice day! __Special thanks to **ColHogan** for allowing me to use elements from her story 'Newkirk's Embarrassing Moment.' Thank you!_

_Warning: mature themes ahead. You have been warned._

* * *

In hindsight, he _should_ have known better.

He should have known better than to look inside the Guv'nor's quarters. Greta, one of the rescued resistance leaders, would be in there showing her appreciation. Kissing, perhaps. But not this.

The Colonel, save for his unbuttoned shirt, lay naked on the wooden bunk with his eyes closed while Greta's mouth worked downward toward his groin. A long moan escaped the officer's throat as her soft lips closed in on the head of his erect shaft; he gripped the thin blanket beneath him tightly while she worked her magical mouth up and down the sensitive skin.

With a dexterity that surprised Newkirk, Greta detached herself from her prize just long enough to remove her white bra before resuming her delightful position. Her full breasts rhythmically swayed back and forth as her head bobbed up and down; a look of unbridled pleasure washed over the Colonel's face as he begged her not to stop. A teasing look entered Greta's eyes as she slowly, agonizingly, stretched out her torment of ecstasy.

Surprisingly, neither lover took notice of the intruder in their midst. For a long moment Newkirk stood, stunned, as she masterfully worked her instrument to a thunderous climax. Suddenly, Hogan's eyes snapped open; his blissful orbs locked onto those of the RAF Corporal before they flicked upward in dismissal -

-and suddenly, the Englishman recovered his senses long enough to close the door. His mates traded knowing glances; it wasn't the first time a woman had been in Hogan's quarters.

_But it was the first time I had ever seen him do anything like that,_ he reflected, his mind replaying the images over and over. _The look on his face..._

_She was giving him something I couldn't. And probably never will._

* * *

Unbidden, a solitary tear trailed down Newkirk's cheek before he ruthlessly wiped it away with the back of his right hand. His hands, now on autopilot, finished their work on the dress before he stood up and hung the article from a nearby rack. Peter then hit the switch that triggered the hidden entrance above him and calmly watched as the ladder efficiently snapped into place. He looked upward out of habit -_ no bloody_ _Krauts today!_ - before he laid his hand on one of the rough wooden slats. Instead of climbing, however, a desperate sigh escaped his lips.

_I can't do anything, can I?_ he thought dejectedly, thinking of the Colonel. _He'll always be some woman's man_. A grimace, thin and tight, stretched his face into a rictus of lovelorn pain.

_It's agony, it is. Like a knife in my heart._

_And I'll feel it there for the rest of my life._

With that, he began the short climb back to reality.

* * *

A/N: My feeling when I was reading _N__ewkirk's Embarrassing Moment _(and this is **not** a criticism) was that Hogan would have had Greta out of her bra very quickly. Then again,if I was on the run I'd keep some of my clothes on too:-)


End file.
